


Touch

by kryptidkat



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album)
Genre: Angst, City trauma, Explicit Language, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Kobra is the physical embodiment of 'do not mistake my composure for ease', Whump, but as far as body horror goes it's really tame, don't try this at home kids lol, i only did the most rudimentary research for this, so anything medical is probably highly inaccurate, sorry Kobra ily, this doesn't really have a plot just an excuse for hug scenes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-19 11:20:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20656391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kryptidkat/pseuds/kryptidkat
Summary: Even after several years of freedom, Kobra is still hardwired for survival in the city. When Jet has to manhandle him pretty badly to get him patched up after an accident, those wires get crossed and Kobra has to confront his fears all over again -- and this time they’re wearing Jet’s face.Ghoul POV, then Jet. No Kobra POV for some reason lol. It’s more fun to only be able to guess what’s going on in his head, I suppose.





	1. Ghoul

**Author's Note:**

> Kobra held onto things in a way most people didn’t. Routines, grudges, mementos, friends, theories.
> 
> Memories. Patterns. 
> 
> He couldn’t help it. It was just how he was wired. 
> 
> The thing about patterns, though, was that you never knew something was one until at least the second time it happened...

“Do a flip!” Ghoul yelled. 

Kobra lifted a gloved hand briefly to show he’d heard, and accelerated toward the makeshift ramp at the top of the hill. Ghoul aimed the Polaroid, shifting his footing slightly so the sun glare would (hopefully) hit just right as the bike was in midair. 

Kobra hit the end of the ramp and launched into a perfect 360 -- _(snap) _\-- before landing out of sight behind the hill and skidding back around on the well-worn dirt trail. 

He executed a few more practice jumps while the camera spit out the film and Ghoul flapped the photo around until he could examine the darkening image. Damn. Shutter speed was way off, the bike was just a blur. 

Ghoul made a few setting adjustments and waved at Kobra to make another pass. 

Kobra’s helmet nodded in response and he revved the engine. 

This time he went for a superman, losing contact with his bike completely -- (_snap) -- _before grabbing the handlebars and retaking his seat on his way down, disappearing behind the hill again.

Ghoul tugged at the printing film. Surely he got it right this time, come on, come on. 

He didn’t notice for a minute that he couldn’t hear the bike anymore. He looked up. Kobra was nowhere in sight. 

“Shit,” he said. He set down his camera (carefully, on top of his jacket to keep the sand out of it -- Kobra would forgive him that) and jogged toward the hill. 

Much as he expected, Kobra was sprawled at the bottom of the other side. It looked like he’d mostly gotten his wind back and had managed to wrestle off his helmet with one arm. He’d made no attempt to get up, though, and was just watching a few wispy clouds drift overhead. 

“Look, ma, no hands,” he said wryly as Ghoul ran over. 

“You dead?” 

“Just enjoying the view. Is my bike okay?”

“Forget the bike,” Ghoul said. It was a few yards away, busted tire still spinning aimlessly. What Ghoul was worried about was Kobra’s other arm, which was at entirely the wrong angle. “Just, uh, don’t go anywhere.” 

“Where do you think I’d be going, exactly?” said Kobra. 

Ghoul just went to find Jet. The diner was only a short trek away. 

“The kid’s shoulder’s out,” he announced when found Jet in the kitchen, washing the dishes Ghoul said he’d do yesterday. Oops. “I haven’t done one before, and I didn’t want to fuck it up.” 

Jet muttered a curse and followed him, wiping his soapy hands on his shirt. “He hit his head, anything like that?”

“He was giving me sass, so I don’t think so.” 

Kobra was still lying there peacefully when they arrived, but he was pale under his tan and there was a fine sheen of sweat on his face.

“Hey.” Jet knelt beside him. “Let’s see what we’re working with, alright?” With gentle fingers he felt at Kobra’s shoulder for the angle. 

“Ow,” Kobra said calmly. 

Jet snatched his hands away as if anyone else had screamed. “Sorry.” To Ghoul: “Yeah, it’s barely out. I can get it.”

Ghoul patted Kobra’s jaw. “Tongue out from between your teeth, kid?”

“Ghoul, hands here and here. Thanks. Alright, K, on three,” Jet said, catching Ghoul’s eye meaningfully as he said it. “One – ” and gave Kobra’s arm a careful tug. 

There was a brief, nasty grinding sound of bone against bone. The relief must have been instant, though, because an audible gasp escaped Kobra. He went relaxed under Ghoul’s grip. 

Ghoul helped him sit up. “Better?” 

Kobra rolled his shoulder gingerly and nodded, like he didn’t trust his voice to come out steady. He didn’t even bitch at Jet for faking the count. 

Jet gave his knee a pat and went to go find something for him to use as a sling. 

“Great. Just keep it close til we can wrap it okay, or it could – aw, kid,” said Ghoul, as Kobra sagged a little, like he was lightheaded. “C’mere.”

Kobra slumped into him, arm hugged to his chest. “Sorry.” 

“You did good, motorbaby, it’s just shock. Take a minute.” Ghoul stroked his head, brushing some of the grit from his hair. “The good news is, you didn’t botch the landing. Your tire blew, see?” 

“Oh. Well, that’s something,” was all Kobra said. He didn’t attempt to look. 

After a while Jet returned with some fabric. “Okay, let’s get this on you.”

Kobra eyed it, dubious. “Do I have to? Party’s gonna throw my bike off a cliff.” 

“_I’m_ about to throw your bike off a cliff. You want it to pop back out again? He’s gonna find out anyway.” 

“Not if you aren’t a fuckin’ snitch,” Kobra grumbled, but he held still while Jet tied it into place. 

“Spare him the lecture this time, I was encouraging him,” Ghoul said. “We were trying to get shots to sell to a zine.”

“You don’t need pictures of Kobra breaking his neck to make it into a zine, morons,” said Jet. “All you need to do is dress up in some of Pony’s old stuff and do a shoot in a cactus patch or something. Zines eat that shit up.” 

Kobra snorted at the image, which was probably Jet’s intention. Ghoul figured if he was feeling better enough to practically laugh, he could stand and walk to the diner. 

“Time to get you out of the sun before you boil your brains,” he said, standing and brushing the sand from his clothes. “I’ll haul your death machine to the shed in a bit. And just wait til you see the pic.” 

“Top photos taken before disaster,” Kobra said with a twitch of his mouth, and let Ghoul pull him upright.


	2. Ghoul

Ghoul pretty much forgot about the incident after a week or so, as soon as Kobra got the sling off. Kobra was always getting himself beat up one way or another, whether it was from stupid stunts or finishing one of the fights Poison started or just being clumsy. Ghoul was always pretty beaten up too, for that matter. It had kind of become one of their things -- comparing bruises and bumps and road rashes and how ridiculously they had gotten them. 

So Ghoul just cackled a few months later when Kobra backed up and toppled off the diner roof to get away from an angry wasp he’d disturbed while he and Ghoul and Poison were trying to finish rewiring a solar panel before it got completely dark. It was hilarious, okay? Even Poison was laughing as he went to go check on him. 

But Poison sobered the instant he peered over, and scrambled down after him immediately. “K, stop. Don’t get up.” 

That wasn’t good. Ghoul scrambled down, too. 

Kobra’s arm was at that fucked up angle again -- more so than before, if anything -- and Poison was hovering over him, unsure what to do. 

“I grabbed the edge, coming down.” Kobra said a little too quietly. He gave Poison a valiant attempt at a self-deprecating smile, but it was more of a wince. “Shoulda just let myself fall, huh.” 

“Jet!” Poison yelled. 

“Shhht!” Ghoul shushed him fiercely. “You’ll summon the -- ”

Jet and the Girl came stumbling out of the diner. 

“ -- baby.” Ghoul finished. “Dammit.” 

“_Again?_” said Jet. “What were you doing?” 

“I -- ” started Kobra. 

“Don’t answer, that, sorry,” Jet said. “Get him in here, guys, I can’t see for shit.” 

Somehow Ghoul and Poison got him upright and bundled him inside, the Girl getting underfoot trying to be helpful. 

“Girlie, lights,” Poison snapped, forgetting the _ please_, and that occupied her for all of two seconds while she flipped them on before she was underfoot again. 

Kobra pitched forward a little, and Jet took one look at him and rushed to jam two diner tables together. “Lie him down! Get him down now or he’s gonna pass out.” 

“Oh, by all means,” Kobra said. “Sounds lovely.”

“Not today, Klutzy Kid.” Ghoul eased him onto the tables and Kobra went without a fight. That wasn’t good, either. He wished for Kobra’s sake that the Girl wasn’t there, because it just made it that much worse for him, and they could hardly ask her to leave. 

Jet was putting her to work, though. “Sit,” he said, positioning her so her full body weight was on Kobra’s legs to help keep him still. “And don’t move.”

Poison, mouth set in a tight line, had Kobra’s other arm pinned down. “Thirty seconds max, K. Don’t be a wuss.”

“Do I look like,” muttered Kobra. 

“Poison! Not helping,” Ghoul barked. He reached for his knife in its leather sheath. “Want this, kid?” Kobra shook his head. “Fine, your call. Ready, Jet.”

Jet’s face was stony. Ghoul knew he hated this, but he was the only one of them who could do it. 

“It’s just like the ball joints on your robot,” Jet was saying for the Girl’s sake, who listened solemnly, “It’s called a glenohumeral joint because this one is a humerus, and it has to slide back into the glenoid cavity, which is the bone up here…” 

He took Kobra’s arm with both hands and gave it a gentle tug in and downward, twisting the forearm a little. Kobra inhaled sharply, but didn’t make a sound. 

The limb hadn’t budged. “Sorry,” Jet said. “Once more.” 

He gave it another tug, with more of a twist this time. 

Kobra did make a noise then, and Ghoul reached for his sheath again. “Yeah, no. You’ll crack a tooth, open up.” He pried Kobra’s jaw open to jam it in. 

“Okay, shit,” Jet said. “The hell did you do to it this time, Kobra?” 

“Just fuckin’ yank it,” Kobra gritted out before Ghoul could stuff the leather into his mouth. His bony ribcage was rising and falling unsteadily despite his best efforts to keep his breathing calm. “Please?” 

“That’d do more damage,” said Jet. “Sorry, kiddo, I gotta do it slow.” 

“Third time’s the charm,” Ghoul said. 

It wasn’t. 

“Stop it!” Poison burst out shrilly, probably well aware he was being irrational but unable to restrain himself. “You’re doing it wrong, you’re hurting him!”

“I know, I know!” Jet said, almost as shrill with frustration. “Something’s off, I’m -- ” 

“Poison,” Ghoul said. “If you’re gonna yell, you can leave.” 

“‘S okay, Party,” Kobra said faintly around the sheath. 

Poison clamped his mouth shut and took up his place again. 

Jet was pressing the heels of his hands into his eye sockets, likely more to steal a few seconds to hide his face than to clear his vision. His fingers were trembling, and maybe he was perfectly capable of being a cold, clinical medic when it was anyone other than one of his own, but right now he looked like he was _ this _close to losing it. 

“Jet,” Ghoul said. 

“I know, if we don’t get it now the muscles will seize up and it won’t go back, I _ know. _” Jet braced himself and took Kobra’s arm again. 

Kobra jerked suddenly and Ghoul was shouting _Kid stop, you’re making it worse, Poison hold him _and had to grab Kobra’s good arm to keep him from swinging at Jet because Poison was gone_, _where was he -- oh, there he was, dashing to the end of the table where Kobra was looking around wildly trying to see what was pinning him until Poison took his head and met his frantic gaze upside down. 

“I’m right here. Look at me. Hi,” Poison said. 

Kobra, startled, locked eyes with him and went quiet. 

“Okay, Jet,” Ghoul said. 

Jet took a shaky breath and repositioned his grip. Another tug, another choked noise, and this time -- thank the Witch -- the limb slipped into place. 

No one moved. Was that it? 

Then Kobra turned his head and opened his mouth to let the leather sheath fall out of it. “Bleack, Ghoul, that thing tastes _ disgusting._” 

Jet sighed and stood back. 

Ghoul and Poison helped get Kobra sitting up. “Try it out, K?” Poison said. 

Kobra shrugged experimentally and nodded before leaning wearily into Ghoul’s shoulder, which was closest. 

In the corner of his eye Ghoul saw Jet disappearing into the kitchen. 

He almost told Poison to go make sure he was good before he realized that would be a terrible idea, because Poison shouldn’t leave Kobra right now, so it had to be him. 

“Here, take him,” Ghoul murmured to Poison, and passed Kobra over. Poison slipped into Ghoul’s spot, and Ghoul went after Jet. 

When Ghoul got into the kitchen he was standing against the far counter with his back to the room. Just standing there, shoulders bowed, pinching his brow, fighting some private inner battle. 

Classic Jet-bottling-shit-up stance. 

Ghoul, whose shoulder came up to Jet’s elbow on a tall day, dragged a nearby chair over to him and clambered onto it. 

“Don’t,” Jet said tightly without looking up. Though everything about his posture said _ get away I’m fine_, Ghoul could tell he was agitated and angry with himself and that he wouldn’t be fine until someone reasoned with him -- because Jet _ could _ be reasoned with even when he was upset, if he let you. “I just need a minute -- ” 

“Sure, we could all use a minute,” Ghoul said, and pulled Jet’s head into his chest. 

And Jet went, with one small, stumbling step to get nearer. 

“Sucked, huh,” Ghoul said. Ghoul had seen worse, of course, much worse, and so had Jet. If there was one thing Ghoul had learned out here, though, it was that something sucking worse didn’t mean nothing else could suck. 

“It shouldn’t have been that bad,” Jet said. “I...”

“_Hey_. Hey. There was nothing you could’ve done different. He’s fine.”

“Shit like this happens all the time, I should be better at it, and about not getting like this, after…”

“Shh. You knew exactly what to do. All’s shiny that ends shiny, right?” 

Jet nodded, face still hidden in Ghoul’s shirt, and wrapped his arms tight around Ghoul’s torso. 

Ghoul heroically didn’t squeak as the air got squeezed from his lungs -- damn, Jet was strong -- and all of a sudden felt uncannily like a human-size teddy bear, which was a strange feeling. Not a bad kind of strange, he guessed. 

He resigned himself to being squashed half to death and rested his chin on Jet’s curly hair. 

“You got nothing to beat yourself up over, Spaceman,” he said, trying not to wheeze. He chuckled. “Doctor Spaceman.” 

Jet let out a long, shuddering breath before pulling away a little to look up at him. (That was strange too, seeing him from this high angle -- was this how Jet felt all the time?) 

“This is a ridiculous thing to say,” Jet laughed shakily, “but you keep me sane, Ghoul.” 

“It’s cuz I’m plenty insane for both of us,” Ghoul told him. 

By the time they rejoined the others, Kobra was looking a little less like he might keel over at any moment. Poison had managed to get his jacket off and was examining his arm more closely. 

He looked up when Ghoul and Jet came in. “Swelling’s pretty bad.” 

And Jet was all business again. “Painkillers will bring it down a bit,” he said, and went to go crush some up in water, which was the only way they could get Kobra to take anything. 

“Uh,” Kobra spoke up then. “I can’t feel my feet.” 

Poison jerked into action, frantically probing at Kobra’s spine. “Shit, shitshitshit, does your back hurt? Did you land on it weird? Why didn’t you say anyth -- ”

“_Party_,” said Kobra. He nodded toward his boots. 

Poison looked. “Oh,” he said, and let out a giggle, a bit high and breathless. “You can get up now, sunshine.”

The Girl was still sprawled over Kobra’s shins. “You _ said _ don’t move,” she said, cross at being laughed at. She climbed off. 

“I know we did. Great job. See if you can find Kobra’s old sling, maybe?” 

She nodded and ran to go look for it. 

Jet came back. “Full disclosure, there’s a sleeping one in here too. You should rest.” He tried to hand Kobra a glass. 

Kobra ignored it. “Just send me back to the fuckin’ Batts on a one-way ticket, why don’t you.”

“Party…” Jet appealed. 

Poison bent his head down to Kobra’s. “C’mon, K,” he said softly. “Just two things.”

“Three,” Kobra said. 

“We’ve been over this, c’mon. You know it’ll make you feel be...uh, less bad.” 

Ghoul knew this was Poison’s least favorite role as Kobra’s brother, forcing him to take BL/Ind shit when it was necessary. It was kind of a miracle Kobra didn’t hate him for it, Ghoul thought. Oddly, it seemed that Kobra only saw Poison as a comfort in situations like this, despite the fact that Poison was the one making him do it. 

“The more relaxed you are, the quicker it’ll heal. Please. For me,” Poison said. 

Kobra just turned his face into Poison’s jacket. The shoulder must’ve still hurt pretty bad, though, because he relented after a minute and drank it without further protest when Jet held it to his lips. 

Poison tried to rub his side soothingly, but Kobra’s nerves must’ve been shot because he shuddered even though it was Poison, so Poison just let Kobra lean on him without trying to touch him, and kept talking as they waited for it to kick in so he wouldn’t get nauseous just from thinking about it too hard. 

“It was bound to be more prone to doing it again, after the first time,” said Poison. “You need to be more careful.” 

“Right. Because I make a habit of falling off roofs,” Kobra said mildly. 

“Well, beats jumping,” Poison said, because Kobra had left an opening there too wide to resist, and Kobra huffed a laugh like Poison must have known he would. They let that topic drop, though, and Poison just rambled on about whatever random shit he could think of. 

“...and anyway, Trespassers Will goes, ‘That’s the last time I put a rocket launcher on a shopping cart,’” he was saying by the time Kobra’s head started to droop, “and Rebel Riot was like, ‘Well, it was fine until the chicken got involved’, and -- ” 

“And everyone clapped,” Kobra mumbled. He was starting to sound a bit loopy, but was still valiantly dishing out the sarcasm. 

“Hey, this is a one hundred percent true story, I’ll have you know,” Poison said. “Heard it firsthand at the Oasis myself. Eyewitness accou -- whoa, there you go. Okay. Ghoul, could you…”

Ghoul stepped in to help Poison half-drag, half-carry Kobra over to the old couch, pliant as a ragdoll. 

“Well, isn’t this sweet, you saps,” Kobra drawled. “I’m just touched. Fuck walking, right?” 

Yeah, definitely getting loopy. “Whatever you say, kiddo,” said Ghoul. He pushed Kobra gently down. “Naptime.” 

Kobra suddenly struggled to raise his head. “Wait, wait -- you guys -- ” 

Poison knelt beside him, starting to freak out again. “What, what is it?” 

Kobra glared round at them. “You guys _ better _ tell everyone I did that doing something cool,” he threatened, and then he was out. 

“Ah, famous last words.” Ghoul grinned. 

“Um,” Poison told Jet, once Kobra was settled with his sling back on and a blanket draped over him and they were all standing there watching him breathe and look very defenseless and very young and and far too pale for comfort. “Thanks. You did good.” 

From the sheepish way he said it Ghoul could tell he was trying to apologize for the yelling, and Jet seemed to pick up on that too, because he put a hand on Poison’s head briefly before wandering off to figure out what he had been doing when he first got interrupted.


	3. Ghoul

“Is Kobra mad at me?” Jet said a few days later. 

Ghoul looked up from his wiring, but Jet was talking to Poison. 

Poison put down the Converse he was painting. “What?” 

“He’s...avoiding me. I don’t remember doing anything that might have offended him.” 

Poison made a vague  _ I dunno  _ noise. “Not that I know of. I mean,” he added reluctantly after a minute, glancing around to make sure Kobra wasn’t in earshot, “He gets real touch-shy sometimes. It’s just...he, uh, got manhandled a lot, you know, back in the city, cuz he wouldn’t take stuff and...yeah.” 

“Oh.” Jet said. “Got it.” He didn’t sound like he got it. 

Ghoul got it, though. 

“Patterns,” he supplied. He held up his hands, dark with tattoo ink in stark contrast with the oddly bare skin of his arms, to illustrate. “Fool me twice.” 

Jet shook his head slightly at him, like,  _ What?  _ and Ghoul remembered too late that he hadn’t told anyone about that. 

He became very occupied with his wires again. Served him right for butting into conversations he wasn’t a part of. 

Jet dismissed him and turned back to Poison. “But he was all over  _ you _ this morning,” he said. 

“Yeah, he was.” Party frowned. Sleepy, early morning Kobra was absolutely adorable so long as you didn’t try to talk to him before he had his coffee, but he did tend to hang around your neck or try to slither into your lap when you were trying to do important shit. He shrugged. “Whatever. I wouldn’t worry, Jet. He’ll probably forget about it in a few days.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> very short chapter whoops. just kind of how it turned out. anyway, I couldn’t help throwing in a little teaser for some Ghoul backstory. I realized belatedly after a couple fics that I’d given him tattooed hands but not arms or anything else, which was weird until I realized why that might be, which I will get into in a later fic, muahahaha……


	4. Jet

It hadn’t been a big deal to start out, and Jet had been perfectly willing to give Kobra some space. 

He first noticed it the day after the accident, when he brushed past Kobra in the hall and put a friendly hand on his back as he squeezed by, and Kobra had shied away from the touch like he'd been burned. Jet just thought he'd startled him, or jostled his bad shoulder maybe, and apologized and didn’t think anything more of it. 

Then it happened again later -- Jet reaching absently for Kobra's arm to brush some dirt off his sleeve and Kobra outright flinching, hard, even though he saw the hand coming and couldn't have been surprised that time. 

And over the next several days Jet realized Kobra was never initiating contact. He still interacted with Jet like normal -- normal as Kobra got, anyway, unless Jet came too close, in which case he’d find a reason to end up elsewhere. 

Jet tested it a couple more times to be sure -- casually approaching him while doing something else. Kobra always slipped at least out of arm’s reach if not further, or left the room entirely. 

And several days after Jet brought it up with Poison, after Kobra had his sling off again though he still moved kind of stiffly on that side, it was still happening. That was concerning. 

More concerning was that it appeared to just be Jet. 

Jet was getting a little tired of having to constantly skirt around him and keep his movements slow and predictable. Still, he decided to not force the issue. Not yet. He knew Kobra well enough by now to realize he needed more time for such things than most. 

But that was before they were unloading one afternoon following an (uneventful) supply run, Party and Ghoul hauling boxes out to the shed and Kobra methodically laying out his gear on a table in the diner entryway to go through it and swap his batteries out like he always did, and Jet unthinkingly came in behind him and found himself staring down the barrel of Kobra’s gun. 


	5. Jet

Jet froze. 

Kobra froze too, just as startled as Jet. 

Then he lowered the gun and turned away to set it down. Jet saw now that it didn’t have a battery pack in, but that didn’t matter. 

Kobra stared down at the table, clearly shaken and trying not to show it. He didn’t bother to say sorry, because sorry wouldn’t cover it, because sorry wasn’t the point, and Kobra knew it and Jet knew it and both of them knew that the other knew it. 

“Okay, kid,” Jet said. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” 

A very Kobra response, but not a helpful one. 

“This...this isn’t good,” said Jet. “You can’t -- we can’t keep doing this.” 

Kobra was silent for a long moment. 

Jet waited. If he pushed Kobra too far, he would shut Jet out and Jet wouldn’t be able to bring it up again for weeks without being completely ignored. 

He was pretty sure Kobra wouldn’t, though, because Kobra had to admit it was bad, if things were at a point where his survival instincts kicked in like _that. _Here in the desert where ride-or-die bonds of trust were what kept you alive, threatening a member of your own crew was a near unforgivable offense. And Jet knew Kobra hadn't meant to do it, but he'd done it all the same. 

“It’s not _you_,” Kobra said quietly to his boots. “It’s not that it’s you.” 

“Except it is,” said Jet, taking a small step forward. “And I can’t help you unless you tell me what’s going on.” 

“It’s stupid,” said Kobra, even as he took an involuntary step back. “That night -- it brought up some shit, that's all. I’ll get over it.” 

"Not if you won't come within two yards of me!” 

“Sorry!" Kobra said, shrinking away from him. "Sorry, I don’t know why it’s just you, everyone was there!”

Dammit, Jet hadn’t meant to raise his voice. He’d nowhere near yelled, and Kobra looked _terrified_, wide-eyed and rooted to the spot like it was all he could do not to bolt from the room. 

It stung a bit, honestly, to see Kobra so scared of him -- of _Jet_, who’d never been anything but kind to him as long as they’d known each other. 

Jet hastily moved away, hands up where Kobra could see them. “Hey, my bad. My bad. I’m not upset. It’s not your fault.” 

With a few ragged breaths, Kobra got himself under control again. It was like watching a switch flip, how he straightened up and went as neutral as a powered-down droid. One of his hands twitched, though, and he shoved them into his pockets. “‘s not yours either.” 

“Well, I did fuck things up pretty bad,” Jet said unhappily. He’d been the one hurting him. And, oh shit, the meds he’d poured down his throat wouldn’t have helped either -- fuck, he should have let Party give them to him...

“You didn’t,” Kobra insisted. “You didn’t. It was worse than before anyway.” 

“Patterns, though,” Jet said. Dammit. Whatever the hell Ghoul’d been talking about, he’d been right. He’d barely touched Kobra the first time, but twice would’ve probably been plenty even if it hadn’t been that bad.

Kobra kicked at a stray pebble on the floor, looking more angry now than anything else. “I shouldn’t be...I swear I’m not trying, I don’t have to try at all, it just happens and I can’t...” 

“Brains are weird, kid. We all get wires crossed sometimes. It just happens.” Jet realized he was using the calm, steady voice he used with the Girl when she was woken by a nightmare, and hoped belatedly he wasn't coming off as condescending. “We just gotta uncross ‘em, yeah?”

Kobra actually seemed to respond well to that voice, hackles going down a little. But at that last bit he jerked his head up again, unsure what Jet was proposing. (Hell, _Jet _wasn’t sure what he was proposing. What was he supposed to do, when what he always did to comfort people was the very thing that terrified Kobra?) 

“I won’t hurt you,” Jet said quickly. 

“I know that!” Kobra snapped. And sure, his rational brain did, but his body didn’t anymore, and he was trembling with the effort of fighting every impulse of self-preservation he had, even with Jet several paces away. 

Jet could tell he really, really didn’t want to -- though he probably felt like he owed Jet that much, at least, after putting a gun in Jet’s face -- and a tiny step forward was all he could manage, but Kobra took one and planted his feet, waiting for Jet to do his worst. 

What was he seeing, when he looked at Jet? What instincts were so deeply ingrained in his head that could cause such a visceral reaction? 

“Destroya. This shouldn’t be so damn hard.” Kobra let out a strangled laugh at how ridiculous this was even as his eyes flickered to the door, finding the nearest escape route.

Jet extended a hand, slowly. Kobra inhaled with a hiss but didn’t move. 

When Jet stepped forward, though, his face went so completely blank that Jet stopped short. 

Kobra never panicked. Not that Jet had seen, anyway. While most people, people like Party, had to make it all the way through a major freakout session to hit the wall of nothingness that came after, Kobra could just...skip. 

It was kind of disturbing to watch, actually, and Jet wasn’t convinced it was a healthier way to cope. 

“Hey,” Jet said gently. “You still here?” 

“I’m here, I’m here.” Kobra ducked his head. 

Just armor, then. Not spacing out. Jet still couldn’t tell the difference, with him. 

“Don’t start astral projecting on me, okay?” Jet said, trying to keep the mood a bit light at least. He lifted a hand again -- slowly -- and Kobra’s arm jerked up. 

Jet almost called off the whole thing right there. “You know what, this isn’t a good idea.” 

“It’s a great idea! Totally shiny! I just need to stop being a little bitch,” Kobra snarled, hugging himself. 

Jet sighed. Best not to try to address that comment right now. He studied Kobra, thinking. 

“Maybe just a hand, to start?” he said, and offered one. 

Kobra looked a little relieved. “Yeah, maybe.” He started to reach out, and paused. “Don’t …” 

“Oh. No grabbing. Promise.” Jet turned his palm down. 

After a long moment, Kobra’s long calloused fingers slid hesitantly over the back of his hand. 

“There you go. Good job.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Kobra said snarkily, still sounding frustrated that such a simple thing was so difficult. This was Kobra, Jet reminded himself, who probably found vague encouragements more annoying than anything else, so he shut up. 

Kobra slipped his hand around underneath to clasp Jet’s. Jet was careful to keep his grip loose so Kobra wouldn’t feel trapped. 

“Yeah, okay,” Kobra said, like, _Not too bad_. 

They stood there like that until Jet’s arm started to get tired from holding it out. Though Kobra wasn’t relaxing exactly, he was starting to look like he might not make a run for it after all. Jet reminded himself they had all the time in the world, and waited. 

Kobra steeled himself suddenly.

“Can I just -- “ he blurted out, and before he lost his nerve completely he darted in and stepped right up against Jet. 

Whoa, cold turkey, okay. 

Jet didn’t dare move, at first. He wasn’t sure what Kobra wanted, because his whole body was still as taut as a tripwire and he wasn’t hugging Jet, either -- his arms were huddled to his own chest as though he couldn’t bear to let himself go fully defenseless, not yet, and he was just standing there pressed as close to Jet as he could although he was trembling like a leaf. 

Slowly, cautiously, Jet slipped his arms around Kobra’s slight frame. Kobra was actually all lean muscle and quite strong, but Jet was a big guy, and to him Kobra had always felt so small and fragile compared to himself in the few previous times that Kobra’d let Jet hug him, and he felt even more fragile now. 

Putting his arms around Kobra didn’t spook him, so Jet tried moving a hand to rub Kobra’s back and Kobra jerked involuntarily, going tenser than before. Fuck, this was really hardwired in, wasn't it. 

“Damn, kid,” Jet murmured into Kobra’s hair. “What happened?” 

“It -- it wasn’t one thing.” Kobra gasped out. “Just...happened a lot.” 

Though desertborns saw their fair share of shit, Jet knew he could never truly understand the blatant violations of personal space and autonomy Kobra had been subjected to at the hands of the City. He tried to imagine it -- a childhood’s worth of mandatory appointments, mandatory pills, IVs and restraints and roomfuls of doctors pumping Witch knew what into your veins while you screamed or tried to through the gag in your mouth until the sedatives kicked in. He guessed that would fuck anybody up, even someone as strong-willed as Kobra. Especially starting at the age he must have been, his young brain still developing. 

Kobra was still tense, panting uncontrollably and trying his best to do it quiet, but he wasn’t shivering now -- which just made Jet worry that maybe he finally couldn’t take any more of this and had drifted somewhere else, somewhere safe and far away. 

“Stay with me,” Jet told him. “It’s gonna be okay.” 

“I’m still here.” Kobra’s voice was barely audible. 

It took a good three minutes of this, of breathing in the familiar scent of Jet’s leather jacket and listening to Jet’s heartbeat and submitting to Jet’s big hands on him gentle and steady, before Kobra finally slumped into Jet, every tense muscle going slack. 

Jet pulled him closer and Kobra’s breath hitched. 

“It’s okay. It’s okay,” Jet said. Witch bless him, he was trying so hard. 

Then Kobra’s tough side got the better of him, and he tore himself free. 

“Scary! Scary, scary. Much too scary,” he said with an unsteady laugh, backing away. Yet he looked conflicted, too, and stared at the floor and admitted, “But nice. It was nice.” 

And before Jet knew it, despite himself, Kobra had darted up against him again. 

Jet obligingly wrapped him in his arms. Kobra tucked his head under Jet's chin and tugged on Jet’s jacket, wanting something, prompting Jet to -- what? hold him even tighter as if that would crush the anxiety right out of him? 

Jet tried that, and was rewarded by Kobra going completely boneless in his arms. Aha, that _was _it. 

They stood like that just for a minute, not long, with Kobra practically dead weight in Jet’s embrace, too exhausted for fight or flight to kick in anymore. 

The second he started to pull away, though, Jet released him. 

Kobra rubbed the back of his neck and didn’t quite meet Jet’s eyes. “I’m gonna…” He edged toward the door. 

“Yes, go. Get some fresh air,” Jet said, and Kobra went gratefully to grab his helmet and keys and was out the door like it was the last day of school. 

“No jumps!” Jet remembered to holler after him as he went, even though he was pretty sure Kobra wasn’t gonna do anything stupid, not today. Not after the nervewracking ordeal he’d just put himself through for Jet’s sake. 

Jet went to open the backdoor where Ghoul and Party, who’d finished unloading the car ages ago, were sharing a cigarette and waiting for the all clear. 

Party paused as he passed Jet. “You guys okay?” 

“We will be, I think,” Jet said. 

He thought it’d gone pretty well, although he realized now that he hadn’t heard Kobra’s bike driving away yet. What he thought he heard was the faint sound of someone throwing up, and realized with a pang of guilt how scared Kobra must have really been the whole time and how it must have finally caught up with him. 

Party heard it too and a grim concern crossed his face, but he kept putting his gear away without comment. He must have decided Kobra didn’t want company or fuss, and of all people Party would know, so Jet took his cue from him and stopped worrying if he should go after Kobra. 

A few minutes later he did hear Kobra’s motorcycle roar to life and fade into the distance. He’d be calm and collected when he got back, nonchalant and probably refusing to acknowledge that the painful, intimate encounter had happened at all.

Jet knew that this wasn’t the end of it, though -- that such conditioning wasn't so easily undone. 


	6. Jet

So in the following weeks Jet made a point of reinforcing the good thing they’d rediscovered, carefully at first, making sure Kobra was cool with it -- little things, like taking Kobra’s hand when he had one free and playing with it idly while they were both doing something else, or casually massaging Kobra’s shoulders for a few minutes as he was hunched over a table working on a project. Early on Kobra would flinch occasionally, but the worst of it seemed to be behind them. Kobra also did his best to return the effort, and would sit next to Jet and nudge him until he lifted up an arm for Kobra to duck under, or would come up beside him while he was standing around talking to someone else and rest his chin on Jet’s shoulder to listen. 

Because the good thing about patterns was, you could replace them with new ones. 

In time, to Jet’s relief, their deliberate encounters turned into a joke (a joke mostly consisting of Kobra yelling _ Exposure therapy, bitch! _ whenever he was in a cuddly mood and launching a mock attack on Jet as an excuse to get wrestled into a bear hug) and eventually subsided altogether. 

Jet knew they were finally, finally okay the morning he was browsing a zine in the pink dawn light coming through the windows, stealing a few moments of quiet before the rest of the world woke up when Kobra padded out of his room, saw that the coffee was still brewing, and came to curl up beside Jet in his booth. After being up much of the night, as usual, he looked exhausted and all his usual inhibitions were long gone, leaving him affectionate and cuddly as fuck. 

Jet just smiled at him and went back to reading, since even a _ good morning _at this point would get him scowled at. Kobra must have interpreted it as an invitation, though, because without hesitating he slid over and melted into Jet’s lap with a drowsy sigh. 

A few minutes later Party shuffled by, on his way to the bathroom, and lingered briefly when he noticed them together. 

“Found yourself a snuggle buddy,” he told Jet, fond amusement in his voice still rough with sleep. 

Jet hummed happily. “I did.” 

Party went to go style his hair (the first priority in any self-respecting killjoy’s morning routine, of course), and Kobra just made a little contented sound in the back of his throat and burrowed closer, warm and trusting and already half-asleep. 

After a while, after coffee, Jet would point out the article he’d stumbled across in _ Daredevil Drive_, the photo splashed across the spread of a lone biker in midair, and Kobra would pretend to be indifferent and critique Ghoul’s composition though he was secretly tickled pink. But for now Jet just relaxed into Kobra’s warmth, which was very much welcome in the early morning chill, and flipped another page.


End file.
